


Tribute

by AccursedSpatula



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Fingering, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go on, hurt me,” Erron whispered, urging. </p><p>Kotal looked down at the knife for a moment, until Erron reached for his wrist, his hand, gently turned the blade and pressed his lips to it, licking away the blood there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tribute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wsecrets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wsecrets/gifts).



> took all my willpower to not title this 'blood for the blood god'
> 
> unbeta'd

To Erron, there was nothing quite like the thrill of a fight.

Danger, _real_ danger, life or death danger was intoxicating, a drug whose high he was always seeking, one that flooded his veins with adrenaline, put his senses on edge, tinged every action with a particular exhilaration. Erron never turned down a fight, never backed down from a dangerous mark, never retreated when a situation went south.

Kotal had ventured to the north edge of Z’Unkahrah, to put down a rebellion led by a stray Kytinn, and of course he had brought those closest to him, perhaps as protection, but perhaps, as Erron surmised, as a display of force. It was rare that Kotal chose to squash these sorts of things by his own hand, usually delegating it to his generals, but sometimes it was necessary, to remind the people of just who their Emperor was, and just _what_ he was capable of.

And it had been bloody. There had been more resistance than they had anticipated, than anyone had anticipated, the fight dragging out as the city was sieged. When the walls had finally broken, they had pushed forth, Kotal leading the charge into the city.

What had followed had been what Erron would’ve labelled as a bloodbath.

Through the worst of it, he’d spotted Kotal, wielding the macuahuitl in one hand, tearing his axe free of a Kytinn skull, blue blood spraying out in a perfect arc, Kotal’s lips curled into a snarl. He’d mashed the axe against the handle of the macuahuitl to swing it, catching two more on the upstroke, bringing it down on a third, chest heaving with the force. Erron had stopped, stood still to watch the whole thing, hypnotized, a small voice warning him about ignoring his surroundings in a fight, but Erron pushed it down, kept staring at Kotal until Kotal noticed him, met Erron’s gaze.

He’d dropped the axe, pulled the tecpatl from his belt, and slashed it across his chest without ever breaking eye contact, his tattoos glowing red as the blood began to flow down over his ribs.

The image had stuck with Erron for the rest of the fight.

Now they were in the calm after the storm, victorious, able to retreat in peace to patch themselves up in preparation to fight another day. Erron almost always took care of himself, skirted through the medical tents and past Outworld’s healers, treated whatever slashes or stabs he had with cotton bandages and honey and prayed they didn’t get infected. So far he’d been lucky.

He’d snuck off again, just as Kotal’s forces were beginning to make heads or tails of what was left of the city, made his way back to the palace, to the massive stone baths beneath it, fed from hot springs. It was dim down here, deserted, quiet, the water lapping gently at the edge of the large, marble pool. 

Erron took a moment to peer over the edge, examining his reflection, dirtied, damaged, armor torn and scuffed, blood, both his and others, staining various parts of his clothes, dust and grime stuck to his boots and pants. He’d frowned behind the mask, peeling his hat off and letting it hit the floor, making his way past the pool to the marble bench and chair that dominated the back half of the room.

Shaky hands worked at the strapping on his chest, taking a break to unlace and peel off his gauntlets, setting them on the bench. He yanked the mask free, too, the buckle catching in his hair, matted down with blood. Erron sighed, tossed it with the others, and went back to undoing the belts over his chest, concentrated on his task.

He looked over as the sound of heavy footsteps cut the silence, finding Kotal standing on the other side of the pool, red tattoos glowing in the dim, grey-white light of the room. He seemed so much smaller than he had outside, in the thick of things, beautiful red macuahuitl in hand, armor gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. 

Kotal could cleave through men and beasts like they were nothing more than straw effigies, blood and viscera painting the ground in dark red hues, brushstrokes from a deranged master. There was a certain finesse to it, a visceral flair not present with firearms, one not present with firearms, a primal drive of bloodletting through the simplest instruments possible.

Erron had tasted it. He’d used knives in combat, buried an axe in a man’s skull once, even brandished a stolen Union officer’s sabre for a bit. It had never sated him, hence the two revolvers in his holsters and the worn rifle strapped to his back, but he’d certainly seen the appeal of it. Not much would make him give up the feel of a Single Action Army in his hand.

Kotal himself was a force on the battlefield, a storm of obsidian blades and sheer strength, moving along to the eerie tune of his war cry. Erron understood why those in Earthrealm had revered him as a god; some days even Erron had his own doubts about Kotal’s mortality.

But here, after the battle, wounded and fractured, that mortality was evident, as was the utter will to survive, evidenced by the various wounds littering Kotal’s body, wounds Erron had seen him shrug off just to keep going, keep swinging, keep striking, keep _fighting._ But now they seemed so much more prominent, dark slashes and purpling bruises, gouges and chinks extending even into his armor.

Erron shucked the leather plates over his head and shoulder, dropped them onto the bench without another thought. He waited, Kotal rounding the corner of the pool, leaving bloodied footsteps in his wake, the wet floor smearing the dried blood on him. Erron had expected him to come with consorts in tow, to give Erron a glare and a silent order to leave, but no, Kotal was here alone, still bloodied and bruised in his armor. Erron was surprised he hadn’t dragged his macuahuitl in here as well.

Kotal stopped a foot away from him, one hand reaching out to gingerly prod the cut at Erron’s temple, then the slash peeking out from his shirtcollar, pushing back the fabric to see the extent of it. Erron snuck a glance at Kotal’s body, finding it far more banged up than his own. Cuts, bruises, a burn on his side, and of course, the large slash across his chest.

“You’ve seen better days,” Erron said, trying to cut the tension in the air. He could feel the heat coming off of Kotal’s body even at this distance.

“I suppose I could say the same of you.”

“I’m fine,” Erron admitted, trying to assuage Kotal’s fears, not that he would have any. Kotal inched closer, leaned slightly over Erron. “Give it a week and--”

Kotal silenced him by crushing their mouths together in a rough kiss, Erron startled for a moment, tensing up as Kotal’s fingers cradled the back of his skull. He relaxed, parting his lips as Kotal deepened their kiss, breaking off into a low moan that Kotal eagerly swallowed down. He tasted vaguely like copper, metallic, not really a surprise given the state of both of them.

Their kiss segued into little pecks, Kotal nipping at Erron’s neck while his hands slowly explored Erron’s chest, pulling up his shirt, and Erron reached for the straps on the collar of Kotal’s armor, unbuckling them. 

“This is a little... sudden,” Erron murmured. Kotal pulled back slightly, pushing Erron’s shirt up by the hem, Erron lifting his arms to help him get it off.

“Are my advances unwelcome?”

“No, it’s just... sudden. Like I said.” Erron lowered his arms to his sides, looked Kotal in the eye.

For a moment neither of them moved, Kotal taking in the damage with his eyes before gently skimming bloodied fingertips over Erron’s collarbone. Erron grasped his arm, turned it over to find the ties for his gauntlet, picking them open, Kotal sliding his arm free as Erron held on to the gauntlet. It was dropped to the floor in another second, Kotal leaning down to kiss him again, their chests brushing together, the skin on skin contact hot, almost burning where they met.

Erron hissed as Kotal’s fingers ran over a slash on his side, feeling the warm trickle of blood from it as the wound reopened. It was a good sting, good, sharp pain at the forefront of his mind, the sensation mixing with the heat of Kotal’s skin and the pleasure stirring in his lower stomach.

When they broke, Erron managed to get Kotal’s other gauntlet off, Kotal studying the slick fingertips of his other hand, smearing Erron’s blood between thumb and middle finger. The second gauntlet hit the floor, rolling to the side, and then Erron reached for Kotal’s belt, seeking out his tecpatl, the beautiful obsidian knife, intending to set it down before continuing. Kotal’s hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him, Kotal drawing the knife out instead, feeling its weight in his hand.

Erron kept his composure as Kotal pressed the blade to his throat, scraping down over his Adam’s apple, a sharp line of pressure, narrowing to a point as Kotal teased his clavicle with the tip. He didn’t even flinch when the knife bit in to his skin, just a quick little slice, a tease, a taste. Rather, Erron moaned, fingers seeking out Kotal’s hips, wanting him closer. He could’ve sworn the red tattoos snaked around Kotal’s body flashed brighter for a second.

Fuck, he wanted this, wanted the pain and pleasure, wanted them to mix together until the lines blurred, in the same way nearly getting killed always made him feel the most alive. And judging from the dark look in Kotal’s eyes, he wanted it, too.

Kotal traced the blade over Erron’s pec, depressing into his skin, pulling away to tease his nipple with the tip, skirting down lower to his ribs and then back up, pressing a thin, sharp line in the center of his pec. Erron hissed as Kotal cut him, thin little slice the length of a finger, hot blood beading up at the surface, Kotal gathering it up on the knife’s edge, thick trickle of blood worming its way across the blade.

“Go on, hurt me,” Erron whispered, urging. 

Kotal looked down at the knife for a moment, until Erron reached for his wrist, his hand, gently turned the blade and pressed his lips to it, licking away the blood there. 

In a flash Erron found himself pushed up against the table, cold marble pressed to his backside, Kotal’s knife a sharp point in the hollow of his chest. He didn’t fight back, didn’t resist as Kotal lifted him slightly, balancing Erron on the edge of the table, nudging Erron’s legs open to stand between them.

Erron reached up, fingers pulling at the jaw of Kotal’s helm, dragging him down for a messy kiss, knowing Kotal would taste the lingering copper flavor in his mouth. It was a long, slow, bruising, that knife twisting back and forth, trying to dig into his skin but just barely lacking the force to do so.

When they broke, Kotal immediately grabbed his jaw, index finger over Erron’s lips, pushing him back far enough that Erron had to brace himself on his hands, arms sprawled out behind him. Kotal leaned in, kept Erron’s face out of the way as he ran his tongue against the fresh cut on Erron’s chest, Erron shutting his eyes and moaning. Normally he would be so worried about making noise, about attracting unnecessary attention, but right now, Erron didn’t care, and judging by Kotal’s lack of reaction, he didn’t either.

Bloodied lips found Erron’s own, that coppery tang back on Erron’s tongue as Kotal kissed him, rough and hungry, free hand cupping the back of his skull, fingers entangling themselves in Erron’s hair. Kotal held Erron in place, ghosted his lips over Erron’s jaw and then pulled back slightly, the soft tingle suddenly replaced by the exciting prickle of the knife. Kotal traced it down the side of Erron’s face, cutting him once, in the soft spot just beneath his cheekbone, before trailing down to his jaw. 

Erron felt the bead of blood run down his face, hot, and Kotal swiped it away with his thumb, Erron pursing his lips at the sting from the salt and the dirt on Kotal’s hands. Kotal’s gaze drifted over the scars on Erron’s shoulders, the tallymarks he’d cut into himself over the years, the circular designs he’d carved just above his deltoids. Everyone wondered about them, Erron knew, Kotal included, but no one asked, because they assumed Erron wouldn’t give them an answer. And usually he wouldn’t, because he knew they expected something mysterious and cryptic, just like the rest of him, but the truth of the matter was that the reality was boring, and so Erron kept it to himself just to maintain the ruse.

He traced the circular scar on Erron’s shoulder with the knifepoint, looking Erron in the eye, wanting that answer. Erron placed his hand over Kotal’s, pulled the knife down in a line below his collarbone, pushing down and breaking the skin just beneath his clavicle, hissing, arching into the knife and the pain. 

“They’re marks,” he said, figuring he might as well come clean. “Dead,” he continued, gesturing with his left arm, “and alive.” Right arm. “Nothing special.”

Kotal nodded, smeared the knife through the tiny rivulets of blood on Erron’s chest from the fresh cut. Erron bit back a moan, reaching up to touch them himself, glancing down to view the damage and finding a lot more blood than he was expecting. It wasn’t awful, still a surface wound, but one that wasn’t shy, leaking red all down his chest. Erron looked back up at Kotal, almost devious, savoring the glow of those red tattoos.

Red fingertips touched the gleaming golden beak of Kotal’s headpiece, down over his eyes, the tip of his nose, stopping at his lips, leaving three vertical, red smears through them, fresh war paint. When Kotal parted his lips Erron urged his fingers forward, his cock twitching as Kotal’s warm tongue licked his fingers clean.

Erron grasped the back of Kotal’s neck, slid their bodies together, curled his legs around Kotal’s waist and leaned up to kiss him, slow, chests pressed to one another, slick with blood and sweat. This was the good hurt he wanted, the good ache of confused sensations, pleasure-pain crossing his nerves. They kissed again, Erron licking into Kotal’s mouth, laving his tongue over those bloody trails on his lips, shivering as Kotal’s knife traced down his spine.

Erron tried to undo the clasps of Kotal’s armor, wanting to see his shoulders, to sink his teeth into the soft crook of Kotal’s neck, primal, but Kotal shoved him back, firm, a strong, _strong_ hand at his chest, pushing Erron despite his resistance until he was flat on his back. Erron tried to sit up, Kotal turning the knife in his hand, blade away from his thumb now, grasping Erron’s wrists and pinning them above his head, looming over him.

Trapped beneath him, Erron squirmed and twisted and jerked, testing Kotal’s strength, find him immovable and unwilling to relent. Kotal’s hands let go of his wrists, and Erron pulled at them, finding them still stuck to the table, craning his head up to see the dark red swirls of blood magick holding them fast. He moaned when he felt lips on his chest, Kotal kissing up his ribs, tender over the dark bruise on them, tongue flicking Erron’s nipple before his teeth closed over it, biting just hard enough to get Erron to arch his back.

Thin obsidian blades pressed against the hollow of Erron’s throat, a subtle warning to not struggle _too_ much, and Erron moaned, channeling his frustrations into it. He let Kotal toy with him, moaning as fingers roughly probed those purple blossoms on his chest, nudged cuts and scrapes, Erron flexing the muscles in his bound arms in an effort to keep still.

The tecpatl was forgotten on Erron’s chest, blade pointed up at his head, and Kotal stood back up, running his hands over Erron’s thighs on the table, his knees at the edge, lower legs dangling down. He was appreciative, a dark, bemused smirk playing on his lips as he kneaded Erron’s thighs through his pants, fingers skimming up Erron’s thighs to his hips, deliberately ignoring his groin.

Erron rolled his hips, not trying to be subtle at this point, wanting the touch, his cock hard in his pants, straining against the seams. He laid his head against his arm, twisted to look down at Kotal, lips parted, flushed, fingers curling and uncurling impatiently. Kotal flicked his gaze up to him, eyes still red, hands slowly inching towards where Erron wanted them. He dropped his gaze as his palm grazed over Erron’s cock, pressing down lightly, just a hint of friction.

And then it was gone, before Erron could breathe that sigh of relief, could relax and enjoy the touch, Kotal’s hand instead picking his leg up at the calf to work his boot off, discarding it near his other clothes. The second one was worked free and dropped to the floor, and then Kotal put a hand on each of Erron’s knees, running them up towards his cock.

Erron snorted in frustration, Kotal’s hand ghosting over him once more, but he broke off into a moan as Kotal cupped him, teasing, feeling the outline of Erron’s hard cock through his pants. He twisted, thighs shifting, burying his face into his arm and sighing deeply as Kotal squeezed him a few times, until those fingers pulled away to work open Erron’s pants.

Without fabric in the way, Kotal’s touch was better, Kotal grabbing his erection and pulling him out, stroking him slowly, firmly, deliberately. Kotal teased the head of Erron’s cock with his thumb, rubbing back and forth over the slit, Erron shutting his eyes and pushing up lightly into Kotal’s grip, groaning. 

Kotal briefly abandoned his ministrations to work Erron’s pants down over his hips, stepping back to pull them down his thighs and off his legs. Erron suddenly felt a much more exposed, even though he’d been naked in front of Kotal more times than he could count. This was different, bound to the table, hard, looking more than a little wanton and desperate. Kotal’s keen gaze was enough to push the feelings from his mind, however, and then Kotal’s touch was back on him, gently spreading Erron’s legs to stand between them once more.

Erron gasped when Kotal hands returned to his cock, stroking, finger smearing the clear fluid oozing from the tip, giving him some slick to work with. He wanted to thrust up into Kotal’s fist, but it was too difficult with nothing to push off of, his feet dangling off the table, and so he settled for flexing, arching his back as much as his arms would allow.

It worked for a few moments, Erron shutting his eyes, feeling steady pleasure build in his lower stomach, until the tecpatl slipped from his chest, clattering loudly to the table. Kotal’s hands pulled off him, wiping off on Erron’s thigh before lightly touching the flat side of the blade. He looked at Erron, took in his whole sullied, needy form, straining against his bonds on the table, and then turned away, rifling through Erron’s clothes.

Erron struggled to look, lifting his head up but unable to see anything beyond his knees, snorting in frustration and staring back up at the ceiling. He jumped at a touch on the inside of his knee, his gaze dropping back down to find Kotal standing once again between his legs, this time uncorking the small bottle of neatsfoot oil Erron kept on him for his leather goods. Erron knew exactly where this was going, fixated, watching Kotal pour a dab onto his fingers as his thoughts raced, chewing his lip in concentration, stomach dropping in anticipated pleasure, his cock twitching, leaking harder. Normally he hated this, hated this whole step, but now, pinned to the table, he was anything but apprehensive.

Kotal’s hand slipped between his legs, slick fingers seeking out his entrance, pressing at him, rubbing slow circles while Kotal’s free hand ran over Erron’s chest, smearing through the blood on his sternum. Erron drew his knees to his shoulders, exposing himself, and Kotal eased a digit in, Erron trying to relax. Sharp pain momentarily blurred his vision, Kotal digging his fingers into one of the fresh cuts on his chest, prying the wound open just slightly, the pain distracting Erron as Kotal’s finger slipped in deeper. It was teasing, slow, spreading that slick around, letting Erron adjust and relax.

Erron moaned at a second finger, hiding his face in his arm briefly, feeling how hot and flushed his cheeks were. He hadn’t been this hard in a long time, this wound up, and Kotal’s refusal to just _touch_ him was getting under Erron’s skin. Kotal scissored his fingers, gently stretching him, Erron letting out a shaky breath, and then Kotal’s fingers pushed upwards, curling slightly to find his prostate. Erron groaned harshly, breaking off into a low moan. Kotal knew how to play him like a goddamn fiddle, how to stand there stoic and unaffected and just toy with Erron, like it didn’t bother him, didn’t affect him in the slightest, even though Erron knew this was what made Kotal’s blood run hot, having this kind of power over him.

“You should see yourself,” he murmured, voice low, predatory. “Bloody, at my mercy, bearing wounds from my weapon, inflicted by my hand. I could sacrifice you on this very table, cut your heart from your ribs, and you would--” he paused to run the bloody fingers of his free hand over Erron’s lips, “-- _enjoy_ it, wouldn’t you?”

Erron moaned, tongue snaking out to lick at Kotal’s bloody fingers, sucking his own blood off them, stealing a glance at the neglected tecpatl on the table, mind blanked by thoughts of Kotal cutting into him, hard, deep, over his sternum, thick fingers reaching into his chest, seeking out his heart, squeezing it as it beat in his hand.

Kotal teased him, small circles against his prostate, even pressure that made Erron twist and squirm with pleasure, cock dripping onto his stomach, arching his back and pointing his toes. He hardly noticed when Kotal added a third finger, starting to move them vigorously, fucking Erron with them, pressing up into his prostate on each stroke. His other hand still danced over Erron’s chest, drawing little nothings with the fresh blood there, absolutely refusing to touch his cock.

Three fingers were good, Erron rocking his hips in time with Kotal’s thrusts, savoring the flashes of pleasure from between his thighs mixed with the dry sting of pain in his chest, moaning softly with each one. His groin felt tight, close, still needing something to push him over, wishing Kotal would just give in and touch his cock again, or just fuck him, stop with the teasing and give in to what they both wanted.

But Kotal didn’t, instead still prodding those wounds on his chest, fingers and palm bloody now, Erron’s chest a red mess. Erron picked his head up, looking at Kotal, who clasped his hand over Erron’s face, pushing his head back, fingers splayed over his nose and brow, heel of his palm to Erron’s chin and mouth, pushing him back. Erron moaned loudly, feeling Kotal’s fingers fuck him harder, nearly vicious now, pressing relentlessly against that spot inside him. Erron’s moans turned to whines, desperate little noises alternating with heavy panting.

He drew his knees closer to his shoulders, giving in, just wanting to finish, closing his eyes and moaning, lips parted behind Kotal’s fingers, tasting his own blood, feeling it smeared on his face, hot, coppery where it met his tongue and teeth. Kotal dragged his hand down Erron’s face, leaving bloody trails from his palm and fingers, his face concentrated and aloof, completely unlike Erron’s expression of naked desperation. 

“Kotal,” Erron gasped. “Just fucking touch me. Please.”

Kotal seemed to consider it for a fraction of a second, his rhythm stuttering. But his smirk said it all, said that Erron could beg and plead but this was all he was going to get.

That hand was back on his face, cupping his jaw and chin and forcing his head back slightly, Erron gritting his teeth, straining, his skin alight, huffing. Kotal’s fingers were hard and slick, shoving into Erron at a rapid, even pace, each stroke pushing him closer and closer but not quite enough to bring him over. Personal experience had shown him that it was hard to come with his cock untouched, and Erron wondered if he’d be able to finish here. He rocked his hips, still making those tiny, needy noises, cursing under his breath when he could form half a coherent thought.

He looked down at Kotal, almost pleading, Kotal’s hand still on his face, thumb over his lips, finding Kotal concentrated in his task, bloodied and bruised himself and utterly invested in the image of Erron beneath him, in watching him come undone. A few more strokes and then Erron was coming, shouting, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes, arching his back against the hard table and flexing his thighs, pointing his toes as he spilled onto his stomach, thick ropes of come joining the mess already there. He clenched down hard on Kotal’s fingers, Kotal pushing them all the way inside his body, right up against his prostate, keeping them there until Erron stopped making tiny, strained whimpers, until his breathing slowed and his body relaxed, until he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Erron shuddered as Kotal slid his fingers out, his arms going limp on the table, no longer bound, Erron lowering his legs to drape them back around Kotal, taking a momentary breather before he sat up, cock still hard between his thighs. He looked at Kotal, ran a hand over the thick, horizontal cut on Kotal’s chest, before his fingers snaked up to grasp the back of Kotal’s neck, leaning up to kiss him. When the parted Erron wasted no time in divulging him of the helmet and collar, letting them crash loudly to the floor, ignoring it and opting to instead grab Kotal at the neck and shoulder, using his body weight to pull Kotal onto the table and wrestle him onto his back.

Kotal put up a bit of a struggle, but Erron was smaller, faster, grabbing the neglected tecpatl and pressing it to the hollow of Kotal’s throat as he straddled him, both of them breathing hard. For a second neither moved, and Erron had the horrible, sinking thought that he’d made a mistake, that he’d horribly misjudged their situation and what Kotal would allow, but then Kotal grinned almost wickedly under him, turning his head to expose more of his throat, his hands finding Erron’s knees, rough fingertips drawing tiny nothings on them. 

“You’re such a goddamn tease,” Erron spat, rolling his hips down against Kotal, reaching behind himself to pull the panel of Kotal’s breechcloth out of the way, the bones clattering against one another. Kotal was hard, his cock slick with precome, hot and thick in Erron’s hand. “Should give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Kotal replied, almost too smug for Erron’s liking.

He pressed Kotal’s cock to him, grinding back against it, watching Kotal, looking for the momentary lapse in concentration, finding it when Kotal’s brow pursed for a moment, his cock weeping precome into Erron’s grip. Erron smirked when he saw it, leaned forward, raised himself up onto his knees, guided the head of Kotal’s cock inside him as he sank down, groaning at the stretch. He shivered slightly when Kotal bottomed out, feeling that pressure back on his prostate, constant now, Kotal’s cock decently thicker than his fingers. Underneath him, Kotal groaned, hands kneading Erron’s thighs, his hips rolling up once to push further into Erron until Erron dug the tip of the tecpatl into his throat, pricking his skin.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Erron snapped.

His first thrust was just a test to gauge Kotal’s reaction, rising up onto his knees and sinking down, feeling that flutter in his lower stomach as Kotal’s cock pushed against his prostate on the downstroke. His free hand found a spot on Kotal’s chest to balance himself, at his sternum just beneath that horrible slash, still bleeding sluggishly, coating Erron’s fingertips with fresh, dark blood.

Erron’s rhythm was slow, savoring the drag of Kotal’s cock inside him, the feeling of fullness and the slick push every time he lowered himself, palm sliding over to grope Kotal’s pec absentmindedly. He rolled his hips on every thrust, feeling that tingle in his lower stomach, one that hadn’t fully subsided even though he’d finished just a few minutes ago, still wanting more, wanting something different.

“Now, touch me,” he ordered, sitting back enough to give Kotal room, signalling his clear want.

A part of Erron wanted Kotal to resist, so he could get the rush, the excitement, that came with forcing (well, coaxing, really) Kotal to do something, but Kotal complied, rough palm running up the outside of Erron’s thigh, fingers lightly brushing the shaft of his cock before Kotal wrapped them around it, tight but still careful of the calluses on his hand as he started to stroke Erron.

Erron couldn’t resist bucking up into his fist, moaning, pushing back down on the stiff cock inside him. He loved fucking like this, loved being allowed to set the pace, to just use Kotal for his pleasure, turn the goddamn tables on him. Erron’s fingertips teased the slash on Kotal’s chest, forceful, pulling a groan from Kotal, who snapped his hips upward into Erron. 

A moment later he dug his nails in, forcing blood from the wound, watching Kotal’s tattoos light up, brilliant red against his skin, Kotal growling beneath him. Erron sensed that he wanted to flip them, to shove Erron back on the table and just rut into him, and while the option was certainly appealing he didn’t want to give this up, this power, this little high.

Erron groaned, hand faltering on the knife for a moment as he fucked himself harder on Kotal’s cock, their panting and moaning and the slap of skin on skin mixing together into a lewd and vulgar melody. Kotal met each downward stroke with an upward thrust, the muscles on his stomach flexing as he drove up into Erron’s body, his hand still working Erron’s cock, albeit somewhat distractedly. Erron had stopped caring about having an absolute degree of control, instead shuddering each time Kotal’s cock pushed that extra fraction of an inch into him.

Erron curled his hand over Kotal’s, encouraging him, wanting him to pick up the pace, that familiar pressure gathering low in his stomach, spiking each time Kotal squeezed the head of his cock, ran his thumb over the slit. He speared himself on Kotal’s cock, grinding down each time, feeling hot, like his nerves were on fire, every little touch sending prickles over his skin.

Kotal’s other hand anchored itself at Erron’s hip, using him as leverage to push up, and Erron knew that he was close, too, from how erratic his movements were, from how his brow was tensed in concentration. Erron dug the tecpatl in harder, blood beading up along its edge, his free hand clawing at that wound across Kotal’s chest, running bloody smears through it.

It was just enough to push Kotal over, Kotal growling beneath him, breaking off into a shout, pulling Erron’s hips down onto him as he bucked his hips up, eyes closed, lost in the pleasure and the pain. Erron shuddered at the gush of fluids on him, tipping him right into his own orgasm, cock twitching hard in Kotal’s grip, thighs tensing, moaning low in his throat and doubling forward, pulling the tecpatl away to brace himself on Kotal’s chest, collapsing as the pleasure crashed through him, all to a chant of “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ ”

Erron shoved the knife aside, letting it clatter to the table beside Kotal’s head, barely able to keep himself upright. “Goddamn,” he ground out, Kotal sitting up, shifting Erron slightly, still inside him, hands grasping Erron’s back to steady him. Erron could feel the drying blood on them as Kotal’s hands roamed down his spine, to his hips, his ass, sliding around to touch where they were still joined, Erron shivering against Kotal.

Slowly, almost tenderly (which was utterly ironic given the state they were both in) Kotal kissed the side of Erron’s neck, nipping at him as he slid forward, weight shifting when he stood, still holding Erron, his cock slipping free as Erron curled his legs around Kotal’s waist, one arm snaked around the back of Kotal’s neck for support. 

“I can walk, you know,” Erron quipped as Kotal started to move. “My legs aren’t broken.”

“I am aware,” Kotal replied.

“Then what am I, your spoil of war?” Erron chided. He made no effort to get down, however, just going pliant against Kotal.

“How vain of you, to think yourself a treasure,” Kotal replied, He kept his grip on Erron as he stepped into the pool, warm water sloshing about them, Kotal sitting down on the bench, Erron settling himself in Kotal’s lap.

“Well, I’d like to think I’m a cut above the worthless junk you’d take from a sacked city.”

Kotal laughed softly. “I suppose I would agree.” Erron cupped his hands and dipped them into the water, dumped the little handful on Kotal’s chest, watching it wash some of the blood away, blooming brightly when it hit the surface. Kotal lifted one large hand to Erron’s face, a wet thumb smearing away a mixture of his soot eye black and fresh blood.

“We’re gonna have to take it easy for a couple of days,” Erron commented. 

“That would be in our best interests.” 

“Just lounging around, nothing to do, no duties, no obligations...” He rinsed a patch of caked blood off Kotal’s shoulder.

“Are you proposing a further tryst?” Kotal’s fingers nudged Erron’s chin.

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Erron said, doing a poor job of hiding his grin. “I believe you’re the one suggesting it now.” He slid off Kotal, onto the bench beside him, the warm water stinging the cuts on his chest. “Although, I guess I could be open for something like that.”


End file.
